


Frustrated Fists and Baited Breaths

by biggestbaddestwolf



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: College AU, Fighting, Hamilton/Washington is implied, M/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggestbaddestwolf/pseuds/biggestbaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr both hear that Washington is no longer going to be teaching at their college. They're each angry, for different reasons- reasons that collide head on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frustrated Fists and Baited Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Friends on tumblr were all musing on a College AU. This is technically part of that world (Washington as either an adjunct or a TA, and MOST of the rest of the cast as students). However, there are no connected parts to this story; it is a weird little standalone.

The glass bottle leaves Alexander's grip with a quick flick of the wrist, shattering against the brick side of the building. Shards bounce back at him and he curses, moves out of the way. He can't tell if the sting he feels is because something hit him, or if it's just inside his head.

You know, that dopey, dumbass mopey shit that won't go away. Shit like _this is how they leave you_ , that hits him in the face at high speed before careening off the rest of the universe and somehow returning again as sharp reminders of every other time this has happened.

Alex heard it from Mulligan first, then people talking about it on facebook. Washington's bouncing, really leaving the school. It's not personal, but it feels like it is. It feels like the world turning against him _again_.

Well fuck it. Fuck Washington, fuck the school, fuck the world. Alex could keep moving.

 

***

 

Aaron had plans. Everything was perfectly organized, perfectly plotted plans that he needed to have fall into place. He was driven in that way, the right people were supposed to say. He was a patient perfectionist, his advisors and professors were supposed to say.

And yet his phone was staring back at him as if to mock him. Messages from Madison and even one from T, all basically saying the same thing. As if to remind him _this is how everything always goes to hell_.

As if to tell him _You moved too slow and now you're fucked_.

Washington was on his way out, and rumor had it that the man had finally had it out with the administration. Aaron's plotted in, the man he'd tried so hard to impress...not only was he leaving, but he was burning bridges.

T claimed that Washington'd had it out over a certain student's senior thesis. No names, of course, but Aaron could read between the lines. Aaron didn't realize he was clenching his jaw until the aching reached his ears.

Well fuck it. Fuck the plans. Fuck Washington. Fuck Alexander Hamilton.

 

***

 

Alex is ignoring phone calls. Familiar beats and melodies tell him who's trying to check on him, make sure he's not wandering around campus half drunk and full stupid, angry and hoping to run into either Washington or someone who wants to throw down.

Twice the chorus of Eliza's ringtone sings.

Once Laurens, then once Lafayette's- which might just be Laurens, still, trying to get Alex to pick up.

Once Angelica. Alex figures Eliza talked to her about how Alex hasn't picked up his phone all day. There are some texts too, and without looking, Alex figures it's her.

He pays no attention. He's too busy wandering around campus half drunk and full stupid, angry and hoping to run into either Washington or someone who wants to throw down.

His phone rings again, and this time it's Washington's ring. The beat blares and jolts Alex out of his scowling thoughts, but he doesn't pick that up, either. He doesn't want to hear the bastard- he wants to see the man, stare him in the eyes, demand answers.

So instead he makes a sharp u-turn the way he came.

 

***

 

Aaron starts out trying to respond to texts on his way out the dorm. Hoping that T responds with something more like fact than gossip, although he knows that'll never happen. Hoping that someone gets back to him saying that all this was a misunderstanding. He texts Alex, demanding to know what he did, what happened, because if anyone was wrapped up in this mess, it had to be Alex.

It always was, always would be. Alex. The name on everyone's lips and the name that every piece of gossip danced around. The name that always popped up whenever Aaron's carefully crafted plans exploded into shards.

Alex, usually so quick to respond to every text message anyone ever sent, usually glued to his phone, wasn't saying a word. T was saying plenty though.

Everyone _knows_ , T is saying, about Washington getting cozy with one of his senior thesis advisees. Everyone knows that Washington, always a step away from getting fired before getting tenure, was battling it out over a few pet students that administration wanted any excuse to get rid of.

Or _one_ pet student, T implies. A pet student who dared to write their final piece of academic writing on the experience of non-white students at their school. Who embarrassed the administration time and time again.

Aaron abandons his phone and makes his way towards Alex's dorm.

 

***

 

“I don't have time for this shit, man.”

Alex doesn't know how he ends up in front of Aaron, but it's the wrong time and the wrong place.

It's the wrong time because Alex's whole body is vibrating with frustration. His hands ache, the muscles in his arms twitch because he's too tense, his head pounds along with every beat pouring out of the different dorm rooms.

It's Friday night, he remembers. He's supposed to be at some part, he figures.

It's the wrong place because Alex means to go back to his room and text Washington to show up. He thinks that's what he means to do- he's not really _planning_ at this point, he's not even _reacting_ so much as he's _doing_. It's the wrong place because they're now in front of the floor's showers.

And Aaron is talking. No, not talking. Demanding. Alex doesn't want to keep up with Aaron's accusations, but he can't help it. “Yo, back the fuck off, I don't have shit to do with you and your work. This ain't even _about_ you.”

The words are returned with a hard shove that slams Alex's back against the bathroom door, and he tumbles back into the bathroom.

 

***

 

_This ain't even_ about _you_.

It never is, and that's why Aaron starts the fight. He can't actually recall another time he's ever swung first. He can recall times he's wanted to- Lafayette flapping his jaw, Hercules and Laurens talking shit, T's stupid little sneer down his nose- but he's always been the good one. He never fights when someone takes a dig at him, but he feels like killing Alex right now.

He is the good, quiet and attentive student. The A student (except for that stupid ass fucking _B_ in Washington's class- _Go deeper, make a real point. Clever language doesn't make for a cogent point,_ go fuck yourself Washington you gave rambling Alexander fucking Hamilton an A, everyone knows you did). He is there for extra work if asked, takes the times he was shut down by teachers and student council and everyone else in stride.

Aaron isn't the overzealous over loud student that swaggered into college determined to be in as money clubs and school political groups as possible, before anyone knew his name. He isn't the student that caused half his teachers and the administration to despise him, and the other half to think he's a regular fucking genius. He doesn't do what Alex and his friends do. He doesn't even do the petty maneuvering that T and Madison do.

Aaron Burr is completely above all of that. He's absolutely above everything he does next.

 

***

 

Alex is a better fighter than Aaron, but he's caught off guard. The first few swings connect before Alex hits back, aiming for the chest before coming around for the side of Aaron's head.

He wants to fight. He doesn't want to fight Aaron. Aaron wants to fight him, though, and that's _fine_. That's golden. They can do this.

They could go for as long as necessary, honestly, and Alex isn't sure how long that'll be. The bass from down the hall is masking their struggle, and no one's going to show up right then, he's sure of it.

Each swing makes Alex's skin crawl a little less. His phone rings.

 

***

 

Aaron's phone buzzes in his pocket. He feels like his skin's on fire.

For the first time in a very long time- maybe ever- Aaron doesn't know what he's doing. There's no plan, no decisions, there's just him and Alex in a fucking dormitory bathroom. It's a mistake, something in his brain tells him; it puts his hands against Alex's skin. It means they end up on the floor, too tangled up to actually take a swing. Aaron's heart pounds louder than the reggae down the hall. He's terrified of someone barging in.

What would they think? A distant voice wonders. What would they assume when they saw Aaron on the floor with Alex, when they saw how Aaron was breathing, when they saw…

... _fuck_

 

***

 

It's either the alcohol, or the way the rest of the night's gone so far, but Alex laughs when they both freeze. The laughter shakes the both of them, physically, and Aaron looks like he might throttle Alex for it.

“You have _got_ to be shitting me,” Alex says.

This is something Alex understands, unlike Washington. Unlike this school. Unlike Aaron's usual.

 

***

 

There's a creeping cockiness coming back into Alex's voice, and the most maddening thing is how it's not deflating Aaron's erection. If anything, that swells alongside Aaron's anger.

“That's what this is about?”

Aaron doesn't answer at first, a piss poor attempt at defiance, but it fails. Finally, he grits out something a little like _Fuck you_ , but frankly, words are failing him.

Alex laughs again, and Aaron groans. His hands, he realizes, are clenching Alex's sweatshirt.

 

***

 

“You dirty ass motherfucker,” Alex murmurs in response. Suddenly a lot of things make sense, and he wants to point each of them out to Aaron, in case the other man hadn't noticed it yet.

Aaron should have said go from the jump, Alex thinks as the situation shifts. Maybe they wouldn't have ended up on the floor in the bathroom.

But apparently, here, no one tells Alex shit until it's way fucking late. Not Aaron, not Washington...Alex isn't even going to pretend he's not still thinking about the situation with Washington when he leans down to meet Aaron, lips nearly brushing against lips.

“Should have said you wanted my ass rough, homie.”

 

***

 

Aaron is above being rock hard underneath Alexander Hamilton.

He's above grinding up against the man who has no qualms ever reminding him _this ain't even about you_.

He's above fucking on a bathroom floor. He's above letting Alex's hand down his pants, and he's above his hand down Alex's.

He's above having stared at Alex and thinking about this exact scenario a dozen times before.

He's above not caring exactly how his hands end up on Alex's skin.

He's above orgasming into Alex's hand and feeling the cold tile beneath them bringing Aaron back to the reality of the situation.

He is better than Alexander Hamilton, no matter what twisted little smirk is on the man's lips as they kiss.

 

***

 

Alex shudders as he finishes.

For a few moments, he forgets about Washintgon, about the school. He forgets about the fact that it's Aaron squirming under him, that all of this would probably still matter in the morning.

He shudders when he remembers.


End file.
